


Far Away Across The Din

by Windybird



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-11-07 23:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11068920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windybird/pseuds/Windybird
Summary: Hunger Games AU. Lee's advice, new and old alliances, and her own wits are the only things that are going to keep Clementine alive in the arena. Well, that and the sponsors tuning in to watch their favorite survivor kill other children. Cue the questionable morality of a twelve-year-old and you've got a recipe for one of the most memorable games in a very long time.





	1. Chapter 1

The underbrush just outside the gates of District 7 is easy to get into, if you know where to look.

Not that you should, if you listen to Walt’s advice down by the Shack, the marketplace that swarms with customers day and night. People in District 7 have more than enough, he says. You just need to look for any old tree, skin the bark off the trunk, put it in boiling water and mix it with a few choice meats and vegetables, and you have a feast fit for a king, never mind most people don’t know what a king is.

But this year has been bad. The tree population has been thinning, this past winter. It’s been cold, the kind of cold that made Clementine sit so close to the fire last Sunday, the raggedy sleeve of her coat nearly caught on fire. It’s the kind of cold that sealed the doors and windows tight, the kind that nobody in their right mind would even think about going out in, unless you were looking for an easy way to kill yourself before the next Reaping rolled around.

And cold paves the way to hunger easier than most other ways. Clementine could’ve eaten the entire livestock of District 10 and still be hungry. She knew had it easier than most, like the Community Home girl in her class who’d gotten so out of her mind with hunger, she tried to steal a loaf of bread from the Shack. The Peacekeepers had inevitably caught her and whipped her soundly, despite Walt’s protests for them to stop. Clementine heard later that the bread had just laid there in the snow until the birds had come to peck at it later that day.

But that didn’t make the gnawing pain growing in the pit of Clementine’s stomach any easier to bear.

Every day, on her way to school, she would pass the bakery. The aroma of freshly baked bread and cookies would hit her like a blow to the head. Matthew, Walt’s partner, owned the place, and even though he would undoubtedly give her a piece of bread- the good stuff, too; Matthew had always been giving-, the shame that would cross her dad’s face if he saw she was begging for scraps now would hurt far more than the hunger.

And the hunger and the cold isn’t just affecting Clementine, after all. It’s affecting her parents, too, who looked much gaunter than they had last winter. They tried to hide it from her, but she could see how much this winter was hurting them.

Which brought her to the underbrush.

She’s spent nearly an hour agonizing over whether to go or not. If the Peacekeepers find her, they won’t give her a stern-talking to, much as she hopes. They’ll grab her and whip her until her back resembles that of the Community Home girl’s, maybe even worse. They have a very strict policy when it came from stealing food from the forests surrounding District 7.

On the other hand, there’s no food at home. Her mom’s trying to sell antiques in the Shack; her dad’s chopping down dead wood somewhere in the forest, both weak with hunger. They’d left Clementine alone at home by herself, and guilt lodges itself in her throat when she realizes how much trouble she’s going to get them into if she was caught.

And normally, she would never even think of doing something as illegal as this. This is far beyond what the Community Home girl tried to pull; this is punishable by fifty lashes at least, if not more. The thought fills her with dread. She was never very good with violence or gore.

But this winter has a way of pulling out a part of her she would never have noticed before, and the only push she needs is her parents’ skeletal faces and the emptiness of her own stomach before she plunges into a thinning area of the underbrush.

Darkness surrounds her instantly.

Clementine stands still, willing her heart to stop pounding so quickly in her chest. Gradually, her eyes adjust to the darkness, looking over the sea of trees that surrounded her at every turn. She doesn’t even know where to begin, and a new fear lodges itself into her brain- she’s going to get lost.

She looks behind her. She can still turn around and walk back home, her parents none the wiser. But no- she isn’t going to leave without something shown for her efforts. She’s already made it this far. _Just a few more steps,_ she promises herself, _and you’ll be out of here with more food than you’ve seen in a month._

She takes a deep breath, picks up her feet, and starts trudging to the north, where the sun is barely visible over the green leafy treetops. It feels like she’s been walking for hours until she suddenly stumbles on something that stops her in her tracks.

A clementine tree.

The fruit she was named after. She only tried one once, for her sixth birthday. Her mom drizzled it with honey, and her dad managed to procure some sugar from the Shack for her to eat with it. Her dad once joked to her, “You only need to find yourself, and you’ll never starve.”

Clementine can taste the fruit in her mouth as if she was already eating it. Stumbling in the snow, she makes her way for a low-hanging branch and begins to stuff her coat pockets with as many clementines as she can possibly carry.

She reaches out for the last one on the branch when she heard the voice from behind her.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

She doesn’t even look behind her. She just runs.

She makes it as far as the underbrush before strong hands grab the hood of her coat and yanks her back. It’s a Peacekeeper patrolling the forest, undoubtedly; the scent of his cologne is so strong it’s almost sickening. He hauls her out of the underbrush and physically drags her all the way to Town Square, where people are still lingering around the Shack.

Finally, his hands release her, and she physically stumbles back a few paces. She looks up into the face of the Peacekeeper and instantly recognizes him as Hank, the Peacekeeper who had caught the Community Girl stealing the loaf of bread last week.

“Thought you could steal from us, girl?” He rumbles, and his voice is like sandpaper across her face.

Clementine swallows. The image of the Community Girl’s lashed back swims into view and she feels bile rise in her throat.

“I wasn’t stealing,” she says, her voice surprisingly calm despite herself. “We’re starving. We’re all starving, and nobody’s doing anything about it-“

His hand flies across her face so quick, she can’t even be sure it was there, until a raw stinging sensation suddenly floods her left cheek. There’s a crowd forming around them, murmuring unhappily when they see the red handprint on the side of her face. Nobody likes watching a child lashing in District 7.

“You shut your filthy mouth,” Hank snarls. “We’re all starving, but we aren’t stealing food from our forests like dirty beggars. _Are we?!”_

He looks around at the crowd, trying to appeal to them- _no,_ Clementine thinks, _trying to scare them._ Two lashings in a week isn’t common, even for District 7. There must’ve been some kind of outburst recently, someone stirring up the crowd again. And with the Reaping lingering by their heads like an unwelcome reminder, the Peacekeepers need to make examples of people who fell out of line.

She keeps her face carefully blank despite the growing fear building in the pit of her stomach as Hank walks over to her and yanks her up by the collar of her shirt, so forcefully she’s lifted in the air. She turns her head and shuts her eyes tight as he spits out his words.

“What say we teach her a _lesson?”_  

The words are like a fly’s buzz- they linger in her ear, even after he drops her to the ground, louder than the lashing of a whip against the snow. She curls into a ball and covers her face as she feels his shadow looming over her body.

And then-

“Hey! Get off of her!”

There’s a minor scuffle above her, a few yelps and landing blows and the collective gasp of a crowd, and then silence. Clementine raises her head.

Lee Everett, sole Victor of the 54th Annual Hunger Games, is standing above her, a long red gash across his cheek from where a whip must’ve come in contact with his skin. She’s never seen him before- except on television screens-, never even spoken to him, until now.

And yet, there is Hank, lying in a bloody heap in the corner. And there is Lee’s warm, calloused hand, pulling her up from the snow.

“You okay, sweetpea?” He asks her, and his voice, like his hand, is warm and worn. Clementine stares at him with wide eyes.

Lee Everett’s Games are notorious as being one of the bloodiest ones in Hunger Games history. Reaped at age 17, his girlfriend right alongside him, he forms an alliance with her and a few others in the frozen tundra that served as their Arena that year. When she breaks it by running off to join the Careers, killing each of their allies in their sleep but him, he tracks her down, sporting a high fever and an infection spreading from the cut in his arm, and kills the leader of the Careers right in front of her. When she runs back to warn the rest of the Careers, he climbs up a tree- still using his infected arm-, stays there for two days while the Careers try to track him down, cuts off his arm with a rusty saw, bandages it using cut-up material from what used to be his backpack, and waits for the Careers to turn on each other as they scramble for power within their alliance. Within the next 24 hours, he’s declared the Sole Victor of the 54th Annual Hunger Games.

In District 7, he’s described as a cold-blooded murderer. The kids learn to stay as far away from the Victor’s Village as possible. And yet he’s asking Clementine if she’s okay. Her eyes dart to his mechanical arm- the Capitol lavished him immensely after the Games- and back to his eyes, which are looking down at her in concern.

Not knowing what she’s going to say until she says it, Clementine blurts out, “You saved me.”

The crowd is chaotic now, grabbing the clementines off the snow and running off with an armful of the booty, now that the Peacekeeper in the snow in a pool of his own blood. Lee gently maneuvers Clementine away from the frenzied crowd and onto a nearby road, leading up to one of the only places in town Clementine hasn’t visited- the Victor’s Village.

“What were you doing out there, anyway?” Lee asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

“We’re- we’re all starving,” Clementine says, and her voice grows stronger with the reminder. “I know I shouldn’t steal, but, well, I needed help, and they weren’t helping. I can’t take any tesserae, either- I tried when I turned twelve, but my dad got really mad. He said that being Reaped isn’t worth a little more food.”

“See, dads are smart like that,” Lee says, and Clementine feels guilt flood her chest when she remembers Lee’s been Reaped once before. “What’s your name?”

“Clementine,” Clementine says. “And you’re Lee.”

“And I’m Lee,” Lee agrees. He looks back at Hank, who’s still lying on the snow, stained red. “It’s nice to meet you. Listen, Clementine, if you help me carry that Peacekeeper back to my house, I’ll make us some supper and give you some food for the road. Deal?”

Clementine looks at Hank, too. “You’re not going to _hurt_ him, right?”

She regrets it as soon as the words leave her mouth. He saves her from a public lashing, and this is how she thanks him- by showing distrust and doubt? Thankfully, Lee doesn’t seem offended.

“I’m going to help him, sweet pea,” Lee says, and Clementine’s taken aback. “I don’t like the guy, but, hell, nobody deserves to be left out in the snow. You still coming?”

He adds this last remark as he props the unconscious man’s left arm over his shoulders. Clementine hurries to take his other side, and, with the bleeding Peacekeeper between them, they make their way up to the Victor’s Village.


	2. Chapter 2

Lee doesn’t back down on his promise for food. After he bandages up the Peacekeeper, he sets up dinner while Clementine sits awkwardly beside Hank in the living room. She’s never been in a room with such fine furniture before. There’s a gold-plated fireplace, a well-preserved Oriental rug she’s pretty sure is from before the war on the floor underneath the coffee table, and long, creamy white curtains that haven’t yet been reduced to rags covering the windows.

She shrugs her coat off when Lee bids her to, but keeps her boots on, in case Hank wakes up and decides he wants to have another go at her again. Clementine wonders, not for the first time, how she’s gotten herself into this situation in the first place. In danger, out of danger. In danger, out of danger. Rinse and repeat. It’s still hard to believe that, just a few minutes ago, she was going to be lashed by the unconscious Peacekeeper lying on the couch next to her.

Her parents must be worried sick.

Lee comes in as Clementine’s staring out the window, watching the falling snowflakes cover up the trail of blood running down the lawn of Lee’s house.

“Dinner’s ready,” he smiles.

Dinner is made up of fresh salad, vegetable soup, a few chunks of rabbit meat, and a Capitol-made drink called “hot chocolate”. She downs the hot chocolate in nearly one gulp, scalding her tongue, but she can’t bring herself to care. It’s the best thing she’d had in a long time, maybe ever. Clementines can’t even compare, not by a long shot.

“Thank you,” she says after a long silence, broken only by the sound of utensils clinking against plates. “I mean, thank you for the meal, but thank you for saving me, too. You didn’t have to do it, but you did.”

Lee sets down his fork and considers her from across the table. “I wasn’t going to let a little girl get beat up by a man drunk on authority and power. Besides, you seem like a good kid, Clementine.”

“Good kids don’t steal from the District,” Clementine says, staring down at her food.

“Good Districts don’t force kids to steal food,” Lee says, gently. Clementine nods, partially believes it, and chews her food slowly, trying to make it last.

After that, their conversation flows a little more freely, and it’s only until nine does Clementine realize she has to get back home. Lee gets up and packs her some leftovers, including a piece of chocolate as dessert. Chocolate is notoriously expensive in District 7, and Clementine doesn’t stop thanking him until she’s standing in the threshold of the front door.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Lee tells her, leaning over to touch the rim of her father’s hat, gently. “You can come back anytime.”

She nods shyly. “Thanks, Lee. I’ll see you around.”

She walks back home, keeping the leftovers tucked closely to her chest in case someone tries to steal it. But it’s so bitterly cold- like it’s been yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that-, nobody in their right mind would be outside. Except her, but after that entire fiasco, she isn’t really sure she’s in her right mind anymore.

When she gets back home, her dad’s waiting on the rickety porch banister. The look on his face is one she’s never seen before, a mixture of terror, anger, concern, and something unidentifiable she can’t quite place.

“Clementine,” he says, and his voice booms. Clementine flinches. “What were you _thinking?”_

“I was hungry, Dad,” Clementine mutters. “And I know you and Mom are, too. I was just trying to help-“

“What did I tell you, Clementine!?” Her dad yells, and his voice cracks with hysteria. Clementine’s eyes well up with tears. “Not to steal! No matter how hungry you are! We aren’t thieves! What if Lee Everett wasn’t there, huh? What if that Peacekeeper decided to lash you just the same as that little Community Girl at school?”

He sinks into the porch chair, as if spent. He covers his face with his hands, and, to Clementine’s immense surprise, begins to cry. Deep sobs wrack his huge frame, and there’s a metallic taste in her mouth she doesn’t recognize, until she realizes that she’s bit her tongue so hard it’s bleeding.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and guilt hits her so hard, it nearly knocks out all the breath from her lungs. She didn’t just steal some fruit- she might’ve cost her dad his job, too. Hunger has a way of wiping everything from a person’s mind but food, it’s true, but that’s no excuse for what she’s done.

But then she steels herself up. That’s not true. They had to eat. They had to. Just last week, the Conolley’s youngest son died from starvation. Before that, it was Mr. Burton, their next door neighbor. And though they tried to hide it from her, she knew her parents weren’t making any money anymore. Nobody wanted to buy useless old antiques from the Shack. The forest was thinning, day by day. If she didn’t steal those clementines, they might’ve died. They might still die, but with Lee’s gift, at least they’ll survive the next few days. She tells her dad so, in a quiet voice. He doesn’t respond for a long time.

“You shouldn’t have to do these things.”

“Shouldn’t have to do a lot of things,” Clementine says. She goes inside the house and puts the bag on the three-legged dinner table and carefully straightens the pile of books underneath the third stump, keeping it stable. Then she goes to her parent’s room.

Her mom is lying on the bed, her face puffy and red from crying. When she hears Clementine shifting in the doorway, she looks up and holds out her arms. Clementine goes into them without another thought, without even taking off her boots, feeling her mom shake with suppressed tears.

“I thought he was going to kill you,” Her mom whispers. “Walt told me everything. I was so scared, Clem. I know why you did it, but please, baby, never do anything like it again.”

“I won’t,” Clementine promises. They stay quiet for a few minutes, listening to each other breathe, before Clementine reluctantly breaks the silence to tell her mom about the food Lee gave them.

Her mom brightens up a little. “Why, that’s very kind of Lee. He’s a good man, Clem. He’s just been through a lot of things.”

“I know,” Clementine says, thinking about his hand brushing her hat. “He told me I can come back anytime.”

Another silence punctuates her sentence. Her mom’s breathing evens out a little, and before long, she’s sleeping, her arms loosely gathered around Clementine. Clementine feels her own eyes droop as the warmth emitting from her mother’s body and the emotional and physical exhaustion take over.

It’s only until she’s on the verge of sleep does she remember that the Reaping is tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

Clementine’s still half-asleep when her mother drags her out of bed to take a bath. Baths are a luxury, of course, one that Clementine- one that most of District 7, really- hasn’t been able to have in a long time, and the warm water relaxes her in a way she couldn’t for the entire night.

She gets out and puts on a dress that might’ve once been purple and a blue pea jacket, and as an afterthought puts on her dad’s old hat. It’s an old hat, from before the war, and her dad’s most prized possession. Though there isn’t a formal dress code, it’s expected that you should dress up in your best clothing, but Clementine needs some semblance of normality to cling onto during her first Reaping.

_It’s nothing to worry about,_ she tries to remind herself. Her name is only going to be in the ball once, thanks to her parent’s adamant refusal to allow her to take tesserae. And besides, there’s about a thousand other kids in District 7 that have the same risk she does.

Somehow, that doesn’t make her feel any better.

As a gesture of peace, her dad brushes her hair for her, and though her mom does it far more gently, Clementine doesn’t complain. They walk in silence to the Town Square, where a large holoscreen and a makeshift stage have already been set up. Clementine walks over to where her age group is starting to form as an influx of people arrive. She stands behind the Community Home girl and stares at where the lashes on her back are already scabbing over; they’re going to leave some nasty scars, and she can’t help but look over to where Hank is standing, leaning against the stage and scowling at them both.

The escort of District 7, Carley Vigil, starts to mount the steps, and the crowd quiets down. She’s modest enough, for the Capitol- a few embellishments here and there, some dramatic makeup, but her shoulder-length brown hair seems to be the natural color she was born with, which is more than Clementine can say for most Capitol escorts.

She stands beside the Mayor, a gruff man who Clementine’s never spoken to before, as he begins to tell the story of Panem. He lists the disasters, both manmade and natural, that ravaged the country, and the long, bloody war which led to Panem, the thirteen districts and the Capitol it toiled- ahem, _worked_ \- for. Then there was the Dark Days, the Treaty of Treason, and everything else that had led to this point in time.

While he’s talking, she can overhear some of the gamblers talking at the back. One of them is betting on the Community Girl, claiming the entire Reaping is rigged. Another is saying it’ll be Becca Pels, a girl a few years older than Clementine who’s always struck her as a little insensitive. They won’t know for sure, though, until the Reaping actually begins.

The mayor finishes off his speech by reading the list of past District 7 victors. There’s been four, three of whom are now dead. Only Lee Everett is still alive, who happens to be standing beside Carley, searching the crowd for someone- Clementine, whom he smiles and gives the tiniest wave to. Clementine gives him a smile back, but she doesn’t think he sees it, because at that moment, Carley happens to step up to the podium where the glass balls containing the names of eligible tributes are.

“Happy Hunger Games,” she smiles, tight-lipped, as if she can see the irony behind her words. and Clementine watches as her perfectly manicured fingers dig into the glass ball containing the girl’s names. One of them is Clementine’s. The crowd tenses up, like animals in a pen that know one of them will be chosen for the slaughter. There’s a sudden roar in her ears as blood rushes to her face, and over the noise she can barely make out the name that’s being called.

It’s not the Community Home girl, as the gambler had thought. It’s not Becca Pels, either. It’s Clementine’s.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Once, when Clementine was younger, her dad took her out to the woods to teach her how to chop lumber. But while he was sawing away at a tree, she’d wandered off, and ended up getting herself lost for hours. She ended up sitting on a stump, waiting for somebody to find her, and tried to look up through the treetops to see if the sun had already set. But there was nothing. The trees enveloped the world above her head, engulfing her in complete darkness, and she thought she might never find her way back home again.

That’s what she’s feeling now. Numbly, she walks over to the stage, though she can’t feel her legs anymore. She walks up the stairs and past Lee, who she can feel is staring at the back of her head, and faces the crowd. They’re murmuring unhappily, like they always do when a twelve-year-old was picked. They think it’s unfair. It _is_ unfair, but she doesn’t let that show in her face. Not in front of the cameras, not in front of the crowd. Not in front of her parents.

Carley steps up to the glass ball containing the boy’s names, grabs a slip with slender fingers, and calls out the unfortunate’s name in a crisp, clear voice.

“Gill Harris.”

Clementine watches a young, terrified-looking boy stumble his way to the stage. He can’t be more than thirteen, maybe a year older than her. Her throat closes up as she hears the wails of someone in the crowd- his mother, she thinks, who’d collapsed on the floor in a hysterical mess. The sight of his mother in tears makes Gill stop in his tracks and burst into tears, and Clementine feels her throat close up even more with pity, in a different way. Capitol sponsors won’t like that. They thrive on stoicism, even bravado, but tears are a sure sign to mark you as a weakness in the Games.

Without thinking, without even knowing what she’d do next, Clementine feels herself moving from her position on the stage and beside the boy, who’s crouching down on the ground, sobs wracking his skinny frame. The Peacekeepers start forward, thinking she’s going to try to make a break for it, but instead she lifts the boy’s arm onto her shoulder-like she did yesterday evening with Lee and the Peacekeeper in between them-, and half-carries him up to the stage.

When she faces the crowd again, they are making a collective gesture. Almost in unison, they bow their heads down to her, so low they nearly touch the ground. It’s an old gesture, borrowed from an Eastern country long ago, and one that usually appears in the presence of important people. It means reverence, it means respect, it means admiration for a loved one. This gesture alone brings tears to Clementine’s eyes that couldn’t be summoned before.

“Look at that,” Lee says, so quiet Clementine can barely hear him.

“A true show of companionship,” Carley proclaims as the anthem begins to blare. Her eyes are calculating as they look between Clementine and Gill, and bore into the back of her head as they’re taken into custody, through the doors of the Justice Building behind the stage.

Once inside, Clementine’s placed into a separate room from Gill’s, where she’s supposed to receive visitors. The room is even more finely furnished than Lee’s, with rich purple rugs and couches the color of deep red wine that Clementine sinks into. She puts her head in her lap and wills herself not to cry.

The door opens, then, and suddenly her mom and dad are sitting beside her, putting their arms around her as they collectively sob. Her mom keeps on trying to smooth her hair down, and her dad is breathing heavily, like he’s just ran a mile. Their arrival pushes Clementine over the edge, and she starts to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Clementine keeps on saying for some reason. “I’m so sorry-“

“Shh, shh,” her mother whispers, and her eyes are closed, forehead creased in pain. She rocks her a little, like she used to do when Clementine was little. The motion sends fresh tears streaming down Clementine’s cheeks.

Her dad’s gotten a hold of himself, however, and he wipes the tears away from his eyes as he straightens up.

“Diana,” he says, firmly, and Clementine’s mom struggles to stop crying. “It won’t look good if she comes out of here with her face puffed up from crying. There’ll be cameras at the station, and they’ll already be picking Clementine out as a-an easy target.”

The words are a fresh reminder of the horrors that await in less than a month. Bile rises in Clementine’s throat, but she heeds her dad’s words and swallows. There’s a time and place to think these things, and now isn’t the time.

“Ed-“ Clementine’s mom begins, but her dad cuts her off.

“Clementine,” he says, putting his hands on her shoulders as his breath evens. “First thing you have to do is look for an axe. You remember the time I showed you how to cut down trees, right?”

Clementine remembers. He only had time for one lesson before she got lost, but still, she remembers.

“No- wait,” Diana says, and gently turns Clementine around. “Yes, find a weapon, but only once you get out of the Cornucopia first. Get yourself out of danger, and don’t only rely on weapons. And- keep being yourself, baby. Don’t let them change you. Promise me, Clem. _Please_.”

Clementine nods, startled by the emotion rising in her voice. “I won’t let them change me. I-I promise.”

Her dad tucks a lock of hair back inside her hat.

“They allow you to keep one item from your district, Clem. I want you to keep my hat for luck. And to make sure nobody mistakes who you are.” He says, and then smiles to himself. “But I’m betting you wouldn’t let it go for anything.”

Hank comes in suddenly, with a few other Peacekeepers Clementine doesn’t recognize.

“Time’s up,” he says, smiling.

“We love you, baby, we love you-” Clementine’s mom calls out as they’re ushered out the door. Her face is panicked, though, which makes Clementine panicky.

“I love you too!” She calls out, but the door is already shutting behind them. She sits back down on the couch and curls up beside the armrest, feeling exhausted in a way she’s never felt before.

She gets a few more visitors. School-friends, mostly, but also others. Walt and Matthew, who press a large tin of cookies into her lap and both kiss her on the cheek. The Community Home girl, surprisingly, who tells her that she’s glad Clementine wasn’t lashed for stealing the fruit yesterday, and that, thanks to her, she was able to eat for the first time in weeks. But when Clementine tries to hand her the tin of cookies, the girl refuses, saying she still has some clementines left over, and that she was going to try her hand at stealing fruit instead of bread.

Maybe most unexpectedly of all, Gill’s mother, Patricia, who brushes a lock of hair back against her face, which is puffy from crying, and tells Clementine that she’s done them a service for helping Gill up. She begins to cry again, which makes Clementine feel awkward and helpless, and the only way she can think of making her stop is to promise that she’ll look out for Gill in the Games. Patricia starts to cry even more forcefully, but Clementine knows it’s from gratitude this time, not sadness.

After what seems to be forever, she’s finally ushered out of the room, and into an actual Capitol car, sleek and slim, which will drive them to the train station that’ll take them to the Capitol to get prepped. She sits beside Lee, who can’t speak to them until they arrive at the station, but gives her hand a reassuring squeeze anyway.

Like Clementine’s dad predicted, there are cameras rolling away, capturing the looks on their faces, and Clementine makes sure to school her expression into one of steely stoicism, though it’s hard. The train alone is impossibly overwhelming to take in, and she can’t help but gasp when they’re shown into the interior of the train.

They’re given their own bedrooms, complete with en suite. Their dressers are filled with designer clothing from the Capitol, and Carley tells Clementine to wear whatever she wants for dinner, which will be in a little while. She looks at Carley weirdly- why would she think about clothing at a time like this, after all?- but realizes she probably wants them to make a good impression with Lee. He must’ve not told her about their encounter, then.

She lays on her bed instead of dressing, staring up at the deep red ceiling as the realization that she’ll probably never come home again begins to set in. She bites the inside of her cheek when she feels the tears resurging. _There’ll be time for tears later,_ she resolves, and steps into the shower.

There are so many buttons, she doesn’t know which ones to press. Not to mention the fact she’s never been in a shower before. She ends up dousing herself in lavender-scented lather before she finds the switch for warm water, and ends up staying inside a good fifteen minutes until Carley comes to collect her for dinner.

Hastily putting on a dress, Clementine follows her down to the dining room, a narrow but tastefully decorated room with a huge crystal chandelier hanging above their table, which is piled high with appetizers.

Lee and Gill sit in the seats opposite to one another. Lee seems to be trying to talk to him, but Gill’s picking at his food and refuses to look up. Cautiously, Clementine takes a seat beside the boy, Carley beside Lee.

For a while, the influx of new dishes demands all of Clementine’s attention, and she digs in with particular relish as meals she’d never dreamed she’d ever consume pile onto the table. There’s creamy mashed potatoes and green pea soup for the first course, then comes a pasta ladled with white sauce and grilled chicken, and on and on and on until Clementine felt her stomach might explode by dessert. She’d never had so much food on the dinner table, much less eaten until she was actually full. The experience is strange but welcome from the many nights she’d spent hungry back home.

When Clementine finally looks up from her own plate, Gill has fallen asleep in his mashed potatoes. She makes a motion to move and clean his face, but Lee motions for her to sit down.

“It’s okay, sweet pea,” he says, gently lifting the boy’s face from the plate and cleaning it with a napkin. “I’ll take it from here. Why don’t you sleep off that meal, and tomorrow we’ll talk about things?”

“Yeah, you should go to bed,” Carley agrees, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “We’ll take care of it from here.”

As far as Capitol escorts/mentor duos go, they make a pretty good team. Clementine thanks them and goes back into her room, not even bothering to dress into pajamas as she curls up onto the large king-sized bed, big enough to fit her entire family into and still have room for more.

She doesn’t know if her District Partner is going to make it. Or if she will, for that matter. Already she’s probably considered soft, emotional- not just because of her age, but because of her actions on that stage. She went back to help him across. That’s probably cost her more than a few sponsors. But she doesn’t regret it. She promised her mom she wouldn’t change herself for the Games, and if she’s already breaking that promise before they begin, she might as well throw herself out of the train now.

The thought makes her shiver. She never expected to live long- nobody in District 7 did; the oldest person around was probably in their early seventies, and that’s only if they were lucky. But to die like this? Before she’s even finished with school? In the middle of some Arena, being stabbed to death by another kid who might’ve been in the same grade as her in school?

The human body betrays you, even if you _want_ to die. If you try to hold your breath until you suffocate, it forces you to breathe in deeply. If you try to push your head under water, it’ll force you to come back up. If- when- the time came, Clementine wouldn’t just sit still. She’d do something. But it would be up to her to figure out what that something would be.


	4. Chapter 4

There is somebody in Clementine’s room.

She feels their eyes on her, and pretends to be asleep, wondering what they’ll do. But they only tuck in her blankets more securely, take off her hat and place it on the night stand beside her, and turn off the lights, which have apparently been on the entire night. For a split second, she wonders if it was Lee- but no, she can hear his voice down the corridor, talking to someone. She waits until she heard the telltale click of the door shutting, and slowly gets up from the bed.

It’s around eight or nine, judging by the morning light streaming into her room from the thin window pane on the other side of the room. Clementine crosses the room and opened the window, letting the fresh air sting her face as the train rolls by. She debates whether or not to take a shower, but a shower in less than two days seems excessive (at least by Clementine’s standards), so she puts on a long skirt and a comfortable-looking yellow sweater, and as an afterthought takes her dad’s hat from the night stand and tugs it securely onto her head.

Lee, Carley, and Gill are seated around the table when Clementine walks in. A red-haired server is ladling scrambled eggs onto Gill’s plate, and when she notices her she bowed her head and pulled up another plate and seat.

“Thank you,” Clementine tells her. She smiles, nodding her head but otherwise not saying a word. At Clementine’s questioning glance, Lee nods his head to indicate he’d explain once she was out of the room.

“She’s an Avox,” he tells her. “They’re servants of the Capitol. They can’t speak.”

“Why not?” Gill suddenly asks, breaking his silence. It’s the first thing Clementine’s heard from him since yesterday. Carley answers the question before Lee can, looking upset.

“They cut out their tongues because they’re considered criminals,” She says, and her face hardens. “It’s- well, it’s barbaric, if you ask me.”

She says it as though she’s expecting somebody to rebuke her. When no reprimand comes, she shoves some salad into her mouth, looking pleased. Clementine unconsciously seeks out Lee’s glance, exchanging an amused smile before they get to the matter of hand.

“So,” Lee begins, setting down his fork, “I’m supposed to be giving you two advice.”

“Advice?” Gill asks. “What advice?”

“Well, for one thing, what to do those first few minutes in the Games. See, most Tributes make the mistake of heading to the Cornucopia as soon as that starting bell rings. But that’s the easiest way to get yourselves killed out there.” He emphasizes his point by waving his fork in the air before spearing a piece of melon and chewing it thoughtfully.

“That’s what my dad said,” Clementine recalls.

“Dads are smart like that,” He says, repeating his words from before, and Clementine smiles.

“Where else are we gonna get weapons?” Gill asks, frowning. Lee considers his question.

“If you know how, you can fashion a decent shiv from tree bark. That is, if your arena this year will have trees in the first place. I’ll expect they’ll teach you how to make one during your training.”

The Avox comes back in, with a few large platters piled high with pancakes, waffles, and French toast, dripping with maple syrup. Clementine spears a pancake and licks the maple syrup off her fork before digging in.

“Now,” Lee continues, “it’s important to make allies. I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I did without mine. However, if you get the gut feeling that they’re going to break the alliance, you get out of there as soon as you can.”

“How will we know who to be allies with?” Clementine asks. Carley reaches over with a napkin to wipe the maple syrup off her face.

“Stay away from the Careers, generally, and just try to find kids who seem friendly enough. Usually, the kids closest to your age group are a safe bet.”

Gill stands up suddenly, chair protesting with the sudden movement. He’s shaking.

“I can’t,” he says. “I just- we’ll be killing those other kids, I can’t, I can’t-“

“You don’t have to,” Lee says, looking somber. “But if you want a shot of winning at those games, you need to. Sit back down, Gill.”

There are tear tracks running down his face as he sits back down. Clementine looks away as her gut twists in pity. She doesn’t want to watch him be killed by kids who are bigger and stronger than they are, who don’t have any hesitation in killing each other. He’s a good kid. Maybe even better than she is; at least he speaks out against the Games, like she wants to. Like she should.

“Don’t betray your allies. That’s the first rule you have to learn. Sure, Capitol sponsors may like that in a Tribute, but they aren’t in the Games. You guys are. And when you’re stuck in an arena with nothing to do but kill and survive, revenge comes as a top priority on your list.”

The train is slowly screeching to a halt, Clementine realizes. Lee looks troubled as he stands up from the table. The two Tributes instinctively follow suit.

“We’re going to go to the stylists in a few minutes. It’s important to impress them; they’ll be fixing you guys up for the Parade, and a good impression can do miracles with the audience. I should know; when I was a Tribute, they slathered mud and leaves on my body and called me a tree.” He smiles wryly. “I wasn’t the best client, I’ll admit. So that’s why it’s up to you two to be the best.”

“The stylists have a way of picking favorites, too,” Carley says. She looks grim. “You two should make sure you’re them.”

 

* * *

 

 The Remake Center is large, larger than the Justice Building, but Clementine doesn’t have much time to look around before she’s pulled into a room full of aliens from those old books still left in the school library.

At least, that’s what they look like to her. Their skins are dyed vibrant colors- blue, gold, green, take your pick. Their hair is elaborately done, coiffed perfectly, their nails well-manicured, and they don’t have a single hair on their body. Clementine’s immediate fear is that they’re going to force her to dye her skin pink.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. We’re just going to clean you up a little,” says an Indian woman to her left, who introduces herself as Sarita. It’s a pretty name, almost as pretty as she is. Clementine remembers Lee’s words to make a good impression and tells her so. She blushes, nearly as pink as the skin of the woman standing beside her.

The rest of the team introduces themselves as Wyatt and Eddie, a goofy couple who seem a little more natural than the rest, Russel, a tall young man who can’t be more than 25, and Sandra, a pretty girl with long blue hair who holds Clementine down while the rest start to do what Sarita calls their “magic”.

They wax off body hair, scrub her skin until she’s pretty sure all the natural oils have been scrubbed out of it, and slather her in lotions and mousse that make her feel as slippery as an oil slick. She grits her teeth and bears the pain silently, which seems to please the stylists as they cover her in a thin robe. 

All of them leave the room after that, except for Sarita, who tells Clementine she’s her “main stylist”. At Clementine’s questioning glance, she explains that she’s in charge of doing her costume and makeup for the parade- the opening ceremonies, Sarita calls it.

“The earlier costumes for your District have been rather distasteful these past few years, I’m afraid,” Sarita says, and Clementine smiles, remembering Lee’s supposedly memorable mud-and-leaves costume. “I want to make you something that will _wow_ the audience. Something that will get you as many sponsors as you deserve. And I have _just_ the plan.”

A few hours later, Clementine is wearing a dress more expensive than anything she’s ever seen before in her life. It’s not too elaborate, but is made of rich brown material that goes past her knees. Sarita wanted to keep Clementine’s hat on her head, apparently singular amongst whatever possessions the other Tributes were allowed to keep, so she weaved blue flowers a few shades lighter around it. Besides, she was most recognizable with the old thing on, Sarita claimed. _With so many Tributes it’s important to allow the audience to recognize you in the arena!_

Gill is dressed in a similar fashion (minus the hat, of course). His pants are black, and his brown shirt has been designed to turn into a hood of the same material as Clementine’s. His stylist, Shel, pulls the hood up before they’re supposed to mount their chariots, which will take them out of the Remake Center, while Sarita fusses with Clementine’s dress one last time.

The District 1 chariot starts to exit out of the building, and Clementine can’t help but gape at the silvery beauty of their costumes. They look as precious as the diamonds they create for the Capitol, and already Clementine can hear the adoring screams of the audience from outside.

Clementine suddenly feels the pressure of Gill’s hand squeezing her own. She looks at him, startled, but he shakes his head. Even under all that makeup he’s starting to look a little green.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispers, not knowing who she’s trying to assure more- him or herself. “Just breathe in and out. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Okay,” he breathes. His hand is still clutching hers, but a little less strongly. “Okay.”

The chariot pulls forward as District 6’s goes off into the distance. Soon enough, their chariot is taking them to the City Circle, amidst thousands of Capitol fans screaming their names. One reaches out and tries to pull at Gill’s hood, but luckily, the chariot moves quickly to finish the circle that’s forming around the Mayor’s mansion.

President Lily walks out. She gives the same welcome speech she does every year, but this time, Clementine is up-close and personal, not just watching her lined pixilated face from the school’s screen. It’s unnerving, a little bit, and she looks away as the anthem starts to blare out from the speakers.

The chariots roll back into the Training Building after some time, and Clementine takes Lee’s hand as she hops off. He’s surrounded by the rest of her prep team, including Sarita, who assures Clementine she did well. A few feet to her left, Clementine sees Gill get an older man fuss over his cape.

“You were great, Clem,” Lee tells her, as he leads Gill and her to the elevator. It’s a large one, made of crystal and glass, so you can see the city skyline and the people walking past as you zoom upwards. It’s the first one Clementine has ever been in, and she presses her nose against the glass as she watches the Capitol citizens walk by in bright, colorful blurs of pink and green and blue.

“Thanks.” Clementine says sincerely as the elevator comes to a halt. Lee smiles in return as they walk out and are shown to their own private quarters.

Clementine’s quarters are large, larger than even the train’s. The bed’s length is bigger than her actual room at home, and it’s covered in a plush velvet duvet that sinks under her weight as she lies down, praying for unconsciousness and ending up staring at the ceiling, wondering how it was inlaid so intricately with velvet and gold, whether or not they needed a ladder or they engraved it with the materials before creating the entire room. She imagines the work behind the chopped lumber lumber needed to create the base for the expansive ceiling, wondering if it was her dad who might've cut down the tree used to make it, before she realizes the ache in her chest is growing stronger with every thought running through her head. 

The same Avox from the train comes into the room at about a quarter past five to take her to dinner. It's just as well; Clementine can hardly sleep. Her mind is still heavy from the memory of her dad, the excitement of the Opening Ceremonies, and the thought of tomorrow's training regimen, and her face is still heavy from all the makeup Sarita had caked upon her. The Avox takes one look at her before walking into the bathroom, rummaging through the drawers beneath the counter to find a wipe to clean Clementine's face with. Clementine sits on her bed, feeling awkward as the silent redhead wipes her face clear of lipstick, foundation, eyeliner, a sort of glimmery shimmer Sarita had laid on thickly, and various makeup products Clementine has only seen twice before- in old magazines at school, and at the Remake Center just a few hours before.

She dresses herself and follows the Avox, who leads her down the hall and past great oak doors into the dining room, where people are crowded around one solitary table running down the length of the room. She recognizes them as her trainers and as Lee, Carley, and Gill, the latter of who has saved a spot for her beside him. She gives him a grateful smile, but before she can say hello a dozen Avoxes file into the room, carrying large platters of meat, bowls of soup, and intricate-looking pastas, peppered with goat cheese and ladled with an odd green sauce that, upon tasting, resembles the greens that grow near the underbrush beside the forests of District 7. 

One Avox offers her a glass of some kind of white liquid, thick and clear, but before Clementine can respond Lee shakes his head, looking amused as she turns to him in confusion.

"That's wine, Clem," He says, smiling. "You wouldn't like it."

Clementine wrinkles her nose. "I tried wine once. It was disgusting."

"Ah, why can't more people think the same?" Carley laments beside Lee as she herself raises a glass to her lips. "It'd do me a lot more good, that I know for sure."

Clementine shares a bemused look with Gill, but doesn't press on. Eventually the conversation turns to the different costumes showcased in the parade, and most of them agrees that the intricacies of each costume were upped this year. Lee looks particularly affected by how well District 7 had done in relation to the costume he had suffered through when he was Reaped, and Clementine tries not to smile as he laments the lack of mud and leaves in their design. Sarita looks particularly affronted by this, but decides to blame it on the talented young fashion consultants that had just been brought in from the Capital's biggest cities.

"It was a tough year, with all the new designers," Sarita concludes, "but I think we did admirably considering the circumstances. And I have to say, Clem, you looked absolutely stunning in that dress! And the makeup was lovely as well. What happened to it, by the way?"

Clementine desperately tries to catch the eye of the Avox who cleaned her face, but she refuses to make eye contact, hiding what seems to be a smile behind the platter she's holding. Sarita's eventually distracted, however, by Lee's suggestion to watch the opening ceremonies and review the costumes visually, to which Clementine gives a great sigh of relief to. They crowd around the large holoscreen and watch the chariots pull out again, one by one, until it's District 7's turn. Clementine jumps a bit at her appearance, gazing at herself as if she'd never seen her own reflection before. The makeup Sarita had put around her eyes made them look smokier, like the fumes that rise from brush fires back home. She looks older, stronger, but still retaining girlish femininity, which the flowers clustering her hat emphasizes. At least, that's what Sarita says- Clementine isn't very sure about looking more feminine or anything, but she definitely looks different. She's not sure if she likes it or not, but Lee assures her she looked beautiful, and that's enough to put her mind at ease for now.

Before Clementine is escorted back to her room, Lee asks her and Gill for a quick word.

"You two are starting training tomorrow. This is important- who you talk to on the first day can very well determine who's your ally and who's not. Try to observe the other Tributes, see which of them look friendly, and strike up a conversation from there. I want you two to be together on this- it'll look better if you're working as a team. Can you do that?" Lee asks, looking serious. Gill and Clementine exchange a look.

"Yes," Gill says, looking solemn. Clementine nods somberly, and with that the two of them are sent on their way.


	5. Chapter 5

_Inhale. Exhale._

Clementine remembers to breathe only after around a minute of standing in the threshold of the Training Center. It's quite possibly the biggest room she's ever been in, at least five times bigger than her house and ten times as wide. Tributes wander the spotless floors, engaging in knife-throwing, camouflage, rope-tying, plant-identification- between the sparse decorations and the sterile white color that coats them, it's clear that practicality is key in this room. She stands there, still gawking, before she is suddenly aware of the presence trembling beside her.

Gill stands at her side. It's clear from the look on his face he's not quite sure what to do, either, besides stare blankly at the wall where several Tributes are currently abusing with their bow-and-arrows and forget to breathe. They woke up early this morning, Lee's orders; he wanted them to rise bright and early and get a good grasp of what they're supposed to be doing for the next week or so- as well as to save them the embarrassment and possible danger of displaying how inept they are with weapons. But apparently they didn't get up early enough; nearly all the Tributes are milling around stations, and Clementine can't quite tell if it's just her imagination or if they're all 6"0 and up.

She turns to Gill, swallowing the lump that's started to form in her throat. "Come on. Lee said we should find a man named Kenny; he said he'd help us learn how to use a weapon."

Gill allows himself to be dragged across the room, seemingly still dazed. Clementine's about to give up the search when a trainer with a rather impressive handlebar mustache gets into an argument with another trainer a few feet away from them. The mustached trainer curses his coworker in what can only be described as a District 4 accent, from what Clementine's been told of it from Lee. She walks over- Gill in tow- right as the man winds back his arm to punch the other trainer in the face, clutching the trainer's shirt with his free hand.

"Kenny?" She asks, cautiously. The man blinks, surprised, before his face melts into a grin, surprisingly warm for his lined face. He lets go of the other trainer's shirt, and he lets out an audible whimper as he scampers away. Clementine can feel Gill's body shake beside her.

"Well, howdy, little lady," Kenny smiles down at her. "You must be Clementine. And Gill, is it? It's nice to meet y'all. Lee's told me a lot about you."

“Hi,” Clementine smiles back. “Nice to meet you too.”

“If- if you don’t mind me asking, what was that all about?” Gill asks curiously. Clementine glances at him but says nothing; she doesn’t want to possibly offend Kenny, not with such an impressive display of fists still lingering in her memory, and not with them so dependent on their trainers to survive the next week, but luckily for them he doesn’t seem very affected.

“Oh, nothing,” Kenny says dismissively, waving his hand as if to wipe the whole matter away. “Larry was just bein’ a real shit-head is all. Anyway, I’m supposed to teach you two about some weapons. My station’s back there. C’mon over.”

They follow Kenny over to his station, a combination of knife-throwing targets, wrestling mats, and gun racks before he turns to them with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling broadly. He addresses them both but keeps his eye on Clementine as he speaks.

“You guys have a choice of knife-throwing, wrestling, and gun-fighting. Personally, I prefer guns, but it’s up to you two to decide.”

Clementine furrows her brow. “They never let Tributes use guns before in the Games. They said it’d give us an unfair advantage.”

Kenny raises his eyebrows. “They change rules for Quarter Quells. I guess those Gamemaking bastards want to add a little extra something to the Games.”

Clementine starts, a little shocked he talks so flippantly about the Gamemakers while they’re standing in one of the most famous places in the Capitol, but smiles a little at the wording. The smile must come as strange and unprovoked, but Kenny grins back at her all the same and nods in the direction of the gun rack.

“Lee tell you guys anything about shooting guns?” Kenny asks as he loads a magazine into the gun. Clementine tries to remember.

“We didn’t even know we would be allowed to use guns until now. But he said that we should hold our breaths a little when we take a shot with a bow and arrow, and that’s kind of the same, I think.” She tells Kenny, who nods sagely as he hands the pistol to Clementine. It feels heavy in her hands as she points the barrel to the target, a paper-thin cutout of a man’s silhouette with a red circle painted directly onto its head.

“That’s good advice. It makes the shot more accurate.” Kenny pulls Clementine’s elbows back a little as she leans forward to fire the pistol. It shoots the silhouette’s ear, closer to his head than she would’ve expected. She instinctively looks up at Kenny, who claps her on the shoulder.

“Well done, Clem! Remember to unlock your elbows when you’re shooting and you’re set. You wanna take a shot at it, Gill?” He asks the boy, who reluctantly takes the gun Clementine hands to him.

He doesn’t do too bad- at first he misses the target by a few centimeters, but after a few tries he’s able to hit the target almost perfectly. Clementine breathes a secret sigh of relief- guns are harder to protect him from other Tributes, and it would’ve been much harder to try and keep them both alive with only a few bullets’ worth of training.

They practice for another hour. Clementine learns a little about Kenny’s family- he has a son named Duck around Clementine’s age, and a wife named Katjaa. They live in District 4, where Kenny works as a fisherman. He’s in the middle of telling a story about the time a shark nearly capsized his boat when Clementine suddenly catches the eye of a trainer working at a station a few yards away. She’s looking at them, but when she notices Clementine staring at her she rips her eyes away from them and to the District 6 Tribute that’s trying to identify what plants won’t kill you instantly once you digest it.

“Who’s she?” Clementine asks aloud. Kenny glances up from where he’s talking with Gill and frowns.

“Oh, that’s Jane. Talkin’ to her is kinda like talkin’ to a brick wall. But I guess you two should head on over and hear what advice she has to give you, if she does have any in the first place.” He sounds surprisingly bitter, but before Clementine can question him further Gill moves towards the station where Jane’s working at. Clementine turns to Kenny, says a hurried goodbye, and starts to follow Gill- only to stumble face-first into District 6’s chest.

“Whoa, easy there, kiddo,” District 6 says, steading her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Clementine mutters, looking up at him. He’s tall, maybe around seventeen or eighteen, and has a cheerfully disarming smile that beams down at her. “Just… leave me be.”

“Oh, is that so?” District 6 raises an eyebrow. Clementine tries to peer over his shoulder to see where Gill wandered off to, but he’s too tall, so instead she gives up, crosses her arms, and tries to look as intimidating as possible. “Because it seems to me like you need a little help getting around. C’mon, follow me. I’ll introduce you to Jane; she’ll fix you right up with some good, old-fashioned plant skills. Pills.”

Clementine doesn’t even bother protesting as he leads her to the plant-identifying station. Jane’s talking with Gill, arms crossed against her chest. Her hair is close-cropped, her eyes narrow and constantly moving even as she speaks. Clementine can instantly tell why Kenny was so negative in his description; where he is all solidness- in both build and brain-, she’s fidgety- no, no exactly fidgety, but fluidity. She seems only a few years older than District 6, who shamelessly flirts with her before introducing her to Clementine.

“Nice job with the guns.” Jane says by way of greeting. “I saw you shooting that target within an inch of its life. Good work.”

“Thanks,” Clementine says, sincerely. “It was easier once I got used to the weight. Guns are… heavy.”

She was about to say a few other choice words, but remembers that District 6 is still standing beside her. Jane notices the searching glance she sends at District 6 and frowns at him, looking particularly frightening as she furrows her brows.

“Luke, is there any reason you’re still here bothering Clementine and Gill?”

Luke laughs lightly and cuffs Jane on the shoulder. She doesn’t even give him the dignity of a response, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he walks off to the next station, still chuckling under his breath. Jane turns to the younger Tributes and rolls her eyes.

“Don’t give him any attention. He’ll latch onto it quicker than you can even imagine.”

“Are you talking by experience?” Clementine questions, somewhat curiously, but mostly to smooth the brow that’s still furrowed. Jane laughs a little and defects the question by handing each of them a pretty flower with vibrant yellow petals and healthy-looking stems.

“These,” she says, “are buttercups. Not to be confused with dandelions- you don’t even know how many Tributes come through here not knowing the difference. But that difference is important; dandelions are great in salads, stews, fried, or just plain raw. You get a hold of dandelions in the arena, you’re never going to go hungry.”

Gill pulls a face, seemingly disgusted by the thought of eating flowers for dinner. And while Clementine would usually be inclined to agree, she’s eaten far worse over the course of the past few months. You can never quite get the taste of tree bark out of your mouth, after all.

They train for several more hours before there’s a lunch break. The Tributes break off into sudden groups, which surprises Clementine a bit- most of them didn’t talk during the training period, but now it’s clear that they’ve made silent alliances- based on District, or by age, or maybe just because they felt like the other would make a good partner. It’s concerning, considering most of them are older, stronger, and faster than Clementine and Gill are, but it also offers them a chance to observe which alliances are going to be the hardest to fight. They take their seats at tables that aren’t unlike the ones Clementine sits at in school, and are given thick vegetable soup and steaming loafs of bread to eat while they look around.

Clementine’s eyes fall onto Luke’s back immediately. He’s surrounded by a large group of maybe six or seven Tributes, talking animatedly while they glance knowingly at each other, like they’re used to that kind of behavior by now. There’s an 18-year-old boy from District 10 fussing over a 16-year-old from District 11; beside them sit a 15-year-old Hispanic girl and what looks to be her older brother- or maybe her cousin- from District 5. Sitting right next to Luke is a young couple who seem to be in a spirited argument that Clementine can’t quite make out from where she’s sitting.

She tries to get Gill’s attention so he can see what’s going on, but his eyes are locked on a different place by the back corner. Most of the wealthier District Tributes sit there, not even looking at each other as they dunk chunks of bread into their soup. At the head of that table sits an older boy in a fur coat, dark circles under his eyes as his eyes roam, suddenly latching onto Clementine’s.

She looks away instantly, but the damage is done; he’s seen her, and what’s more, he seems to know exactly what she was thinking. His knowing smile seems to be etched onto her memory, and she shivers; they’re definitely going to have to watch out for him.

“Gill,” she says, under her breath. He doesn’t seem to hear her, so she says it louder. “Gill!”

“They all have alliances,” he says suddenly, staring into the murky depths of his soup. “They’re all older. None of them are twelve, or thirteen, or even fourteen. We’re not going to make it, Clementine.”

“Don’t say that,” Clementine snaps, partially because she’d been thinking the exact same thing. “We can’t give up before we’ve even tried.”

Gill opens his mouth to furiously retort before they’re interrupted by the wave of a hand. Luke is gesturing to them; he seems to want them to come over and join his group at their table. But before they can actually move, lunch is suddenly over and it’s back to their quarters for them.

Later, lying in her bed, Clementine replays the whole exchange in her head. She’s concerned; for Gill, mostly, but also for herself. Gill’s right, at least in the sense that they’re up against much older kids- some of them who’ve been training for this moment for a very long time. If she wants to keep both of them alive, they’re going to have to form some alliances soon. It’s strange to think about- she’s never seen an alliance as big as Luke’s in the Games before-, Clementine knows there’s protection in numbers.

She remembers something her dad told her a few years back, about a lumberjack who was chopping some wood for the upcoming winter. He knew it was dangerous being by himself in the cold and the dark, but he also knew that nobody would want to brave the freezing temperatures with him, so he decided to chop the lumber himself. Next morning, his community wakes up to find him frozen to his axe, unable to move. They can’t thaw him out, so they eventually just leave him there for good. There was a lesson to learn from it, probably something to scare kids with about leaving the house unattended or not telling an adult or something, but Clementine can’t remember it no matter how hard she tries. Eventually, she falls asleep, and dreams of snowfall and axes and then nothing at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Day three of training comes, and though Lee's already warned Clementine and Gill what to expect from the Gamemakers, it still catches Clementine off-guard when she suddenly finds herself standing in a room off the Training Center, with a dozen sharp eyes tracking her movements as she hesitantly picks up a gun from the rack in the corner. It's hard to fight down the butterflies swarming in her stomach as she holds it in her shaking hands. Cold and heavy but perfectly balanced, easily deadly in the hands of someone a little more competent than she is with a pistol, it might very well be the deciding factor on whether or not she gets sponsors in the arena, and in that sense whether or not they'll be able to hold out for several more days- though Lee did tell them both they may not get many sponsors, young as they are.

Unhooking her elbows and holding her breath, Clementine shoots the dummy propped in the center of the room a few times until one of her bullets lodges itself into the wooden panels behind the dummy's head. Most of the Gamemakers are nodding when she looks back up at them, mildly approving, but the wine casket several Avoxes have wheedled into the room are captivating the attention of a few others. She knows she's lucky that District 7 comes earlier than some of the others- it's notoriously hard for a District like District 12 to get the attention of the Gamemakers when expensive Capitol wine is running through their system-, but can't help feeling a little anger as she carefully places the gun back down on the rack. She'd like to think her life is a little more important than alcohol- which is pretty gross, anyway, from what she's tasted of Walt's specialty "sturgeon bladder" mix. (Unfortunately, at age nine she didn't quite understand what sturgeon bladder was, until Matthew told her a few days afterwards that it was dried fish bladder. She felt sick for days after). 

Gill is waiting for her near the door when she comes out of the room.

"How'd you do?" He asks, looking anxious as they start walking to the elevator. Clementine glances at him with concern. His face is still sweaty and red from his time impressing the Gamemakers a half hour before.

"I think I did okay. I shot the dummy in the head for a little while. How'd you do?" They reach the elevator and Clementine reaches over to press the button for their floor until she hears a voice calling for them to keep the door open. It's District 6- Luke, she remembers-, wiping the sweat off his face with the sleeve of his jacket as he jogs over to the elevator. He stands beside Clementine and grins down at both her and Gill in the same cheerful, disarming smile she'd seen yesterday.

"How'd y'all do with the Gamemakers?" Luke asks jovially, as if he was discussing the weather. Gill and Clementine exchange a glance. He seems likeable enough, and though in any other circumstance Clementine would appreciate his interest, she can't help but feel mistrustful of other Tributes. There aren't friends in the Games- they're allies, sure, they're people who aren't trying to kill you, but there aren't friends. Clementine doesn't understand why he'd be showing such an interest in her unless he's sizing her up to see whether or not she'd be an easy kill. 

"We did fine," Clementine says stoutly, shifting ever-so-slightly so that she's shielding Gill. "How'd _you_ do?"

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I think at one point I tried to wrestle the dummy to get their attention."

Clementine can't help but smile when she hears that. "Did the dummy win?"

Before he can respond, the elevator arrives at their floor. Gill walks out without saying goodbye, Clementine hurrying behind him. They eat a subdued lunch with Lee and Carley and go back to their own rooms. Clementine sits in the bath for nearly an hour and a half, her legs curled up to her chest as she stares at the steam rising from the bubbly water as she loses herself in thoughts of guns and the Gamemakers.

Training scores come on later in the evening, and they all clamber into the sitting room to watch the holoscreen, not in a little trepidation. The boy with the fur coat Clementine made eye contact with the day before got an 11 for District 1, one of the highest scores a Tribute can get. The image of him is imprinted on her brain long after he fizzles out, and it's only until District 5 comes around that she snaps out of her reverie. She winces when she sees the scores- the fifteen-year-old from yesterday got a four, and her brother got a six, only a little better. Luke's score is better- a respectable seven, where his District partner only got a five. The couple she saw before got matching scores, solid eights. District 7 finally arrives, and the entire room lets out a collective sigh of relief as Clementine's score flashes on screen. It's a seven- much better than she would've expected. She beams at the screen, but their happiness is short-lived- Gill earns a four. Clementine glances at him guiltily, but he's not looking at her with any hatred or jealousy. In fact, he's not looking at her at all- his eyes are still on the screen.

"It's what I expected," he says by way of explanation, eyes glassy. Lee squeezes his shoulder gently as Carley smooths his hair back from his eyes. 

After District 10 and 11- of whom the two male Tributes got a seven and eight, respectively-, District 12 ends it off, and the holoscreen goes dark. 

"You guys should get some rest," Lee says, his hand still on Gill's shoulder. His eyes flicker to Clementine's, and she gets the message- look after him until tomorrow. "We're coaching you on your interviews."

Clementine nods, says goodnight to Lee, Carley, Sarita, and the rest of the makeup team, and leads Gill out of the room. Once they arrive at his door, Clementine tries to hug him, but he's stiff and unresponsive, and she pulls back with her face burning bright red.

"You'll be okay, Gill," she says, trying her hand at comfort again. "Even Lee said not to count on sponsors to care about our score since we're so young."

"They'll love you," Gill snaps, his voice rising with every syllable. "You've gotten a seven in training. You're the one who went back for me, you're the strong one, you're the one who's not going to die in the arena, the one who- who Lee likes best. He wants you to live more than me. It's not f-fair!"

He bursts into tears after this last word, and Clementine doesn't hesitate before putting her arms around him as he sinks to the floor, trembling all over. It takes him a few minutes to cry himself out, but his breath eventually evens out, and Clementine speaks in a low, comforting voice, rubbing circles on his back like her parents used to do for her when she got upset.

"Lee wants both of us to live. I  _know_ he doesn't want you to die. And a seven is nothing to sponsors, not when there are older Tributes with- with way more skills than I have. I'm just as trapped in this as you are, Gill! But we owe it to them to make the best of this!" Clementine bursts out, with heat she didn't know previously existed. "Your mom came to visit me after we got Reaped, and I promised her I'd look out for you. And I will. But you _have_ to trust me, okay?"

"Okay," Gill whispers. "Okay."

She helps him up and into his bed, promising him she'll talk to him in the morning. When her head finally hits her own pillow, she expects sleep to wash over her like waves crashing on the beach. But it takes a long time before she's able to close her eyes, and an even longer one to drift off into sleep. When she does, it's troubled, incoherent and bloody, and throughout it all she has the distinct feeling of something bad brewing in the distance.

* * *

Someone is shaking Clementine awake.

Her eyes flutter open and she instinctively struggles against the hands gripping her shoulders until she realizes it's only the Avox from before, her eyes wide and concerned as she takes Clementine in. At Clementine's questioning look, she closes her eyes and mimes flailing around, and Clementine feels her cheeks burning. She wasn't even aware she was having nightmares, much less flailing around like the shark that'd nearly capsized Kenny's fishing boat. 

"Thanks for waking me up," Clementine tells her earnestly, and she nods with a smile.

She helps her get dressed in a floor-length gown- Lee's orders for today's faux-interviews, Clementine guesses- and flats, both of which are much too large on Clementine and nearly swallow her whole. Gill takes one look at her and bursts into peals of laughter, even though he's dressed in a similarly ridiculous manner, with a large, distracting bowtie and slacks that fall past his feet and to the floor. _He's clearly in a better mood than yesterday,_ Clementine grouches to herself, but allows a grudging smile. It _is_ pretty funny.

Clementine's assigned to Carley for presentation for the next four hours, and it's much more fun than she expected. All she has to do is walk around in her dress and flats without falling, which, while admittedly is harder than she though it'd be, is fairly simple. After that is posture- Clementine's been instilled by her mother to sit up straight at the table, so there's not a lot to improve on there-, eye contact, hand gestures, and smiling. Carley gives her some banal practice phrases that eventually forms into whether or not Clementine can say dirty jokes with a smile until Lee drops in and decides it's time for a rotation.

This is a little harder than just walking around and trying not to fall. Clementine's actually expected to answer questions, and while the interviewer isn't going to actively try to trip up Clementine, it's up to her and Lee to decide what her angle's going to be.

"Just be yourself, sweet pea," Lee tells her warmly. "They'll love you."

"Who's that?" Clementine asks, furrowing her brow as she looks up at Lee. His eyes twinkle.

"Sweet," he says. "Kind. A girl who cares about her family."

Clementine beams at him, and with that they get to work.

Some of the questions are a little harder to answer than most. Clementine gets tripped up a little at "what are you looking forward to most in the arena", mostly because she didn't ever realize there was anything to look forward to. Lee smiles, but his eyes are a little hard.

"They want to gauge your reaction," He tells her, looking serious. "Whether you're bloodthirsty. Meek."

"But I'm not either," Clementine protests. "What can I even say?"

Lee thinks about it, rubbing his chin absentmindedly. After a few minutes of thinking, he nods to himself. 

"Staying alive," he says, startling a laugh out of Clementine.

The next few hours pass easily after that. Clementine doesn't really try to be anyone but herself, which is a relief, if she's being honest. She thought that maybe Lee and Carley would want to play up her youth by disguising her as naive or meek or frightened or something, but when she brings it up at the dinner table later that night they both shake their head, surprisingly vehement.

"You don't seem like the type," Carley tells her, waving a forkful of salad as she speaks. "And besides, that facade came undone the second you went back for Gill here."

She pats him on the shoulder. In the past few hours of nonstop questions they seem to have gotten close, and Clementine smiles a little as Gill swats her hand away, looking bright red by the attention he's receiving from her.

"I didn't think you'd be comfortable with that, Clem," Lee says, looking apologetic as he reaches for his glass. "If you'd told me-"

"No, you're right," Clementine says quickly. "I wouldn't be comfortable with that. Thanks, Lee. Really."

She just hope they're right about her, because naive and frightened is all she's feeling at the moment.

Still, Clementine's touched that Lee has so much faith in her. She remembers Gill's words from the other night suddenly- "Lee likes you best! He wants you to live more than me!"-, and can't help but wonder if they're true. Even if it was, even if he wanted her to live through this, he can't possibly think either she or Gill have a chance against a Tribute like Fur-Coat from District 1. Not even with all the right answers to all the right questions the interviewer could possibly ask. But it's still good of him to make an effort for her. For both of them. And like she said to Gill last night, they can't just give up before they'd even started. Maybe Lee and Carley are right, and getting sponsors and staying alive is as easy as getting the audience to like them. Clementine just isn't sure if she has it in her to put on a good enough show for them.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Clementine’s been sitting in the waiting room for so long, she can barely remember what came before that afternoon, being prepped and washed and combed and dressed up like one of those expensive antique dolls her mother would sell in the Shack that nobody would buy.

Gill sits beside her, fidgeting nervously with the hem of his trousers. The nervousness he’s emitting is infectious, fraying on Clementine’s nerves, but she can’t bring herself to tell him to stop. They’re all nervous, they all know that this interview will be the deciding factor of whether or not the Capitol audience will be willing to sponsor them; keep them alive, in turn. Clementine could barely sleep last night with that thought, and not even Sarita’s expert makeover can fully hide the circles under her eyes.

Fur-Coat goes first, of course. He’s charming, personable, with a hint of danger that promises excitement for any sponsor willing to have him. His voice, low and raspy, only brings attention to the dark, elaborate costume his makeup team has designed for him. He’s the embodiment of everything the Capitol loves in a Tribute- dangerous, charismatic, up for anything-, and Clementine gulps. Her heart beats faster in her chest, the _thump-thump-thump_ so loud she’s afraid the other Tributes can hear it.

But none of them are paying attention to Clementine, or the nervous beating of her heart. Most of their faces have paled after hearing Fur-Coat- whose name is fittingly Carver, Clementine later finds out-, each concerned only about themselves, about the performance they’re going to have to kick up a notch if they want to compete with the impressive interview that’s just been given.

The Tributes come and go, like waves, and Clementine resists the urge to throw her hands against her ears to block out the sound of laughter, of questions being asked and answered. It’s important to know what she’s up against, and acting like a child won’t get her anywhere. District 5’s 15-year-old, Sarah, is nervous and jittery; her older brother, Carlos- or who Clementine assumes to be her brother- is overprotective, mature, and smart, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt and never taking his eyes of his interviewer.

Luke goes next. Funny, witty, and relatable, it’s clear to see that he’s going to end up as a fan favorite. He cracks jokes about the hotel service, the training, the food they eat- he has the audience in hysterics not even a minute in. Clementine rolls her eyes when she sees the female- and some of the male- portion of the audience swooning over his Southern accent, so unlike their own clipped, odd vowels. He exits off the stage with one last joke and a large, winning smile, but Clementine can tell he’s trembling.

Gill goes after Luke. Clementine gives his hand a reassuring squeeze before he reluctantly pulls away and takes Luke’s place on the chair sitting opposite of the smiling interviewer. Clementine flinches when she hears the nervousness in Gill’s voice, the aura of fright he’s perpetuating around him, but to his credit, he answers the questions honestly, earnestly. He doesn’t seem fake at all. Everything he says is true. He tells the audience about his family, about his mother back in District 7, about the small house they live in, about school, about friends.

When asked about the memorable fall on the stage during the Reaping, like Clementine’s feared, Gill looks the interviewer straight in the eyes and says, “I was afraid. Of losing my mom, of losing my life. But when Clementine came back for me, even though we were both in the same situation, even though we both had families to lose- lives to lose-, I knew I had to get stronger. I knew I had to fight back my fear if I wanted to live. I-I want to say thank you to her.” He turns his head to where Clementine is sitting, perfectly still, like a deer caught in headlights. Everything goes intensely quiet. “Clementine, thank you for coming back for me. You’ve made me stronger than I was.”

To Clementine’s immense surprise, nobody in the audience shakes their head in derision or contempt for this heartfelt thank-you, even though this is probably the only time in Hunger Games history a Tribute has ever thanked another Tribute before. Instead, the audience bursts into cheers that Gill’s surprised out of them, and Clementine beams. He’s surprised them, he’s done something that nobody else has done. She resists the urge to fling her arms around him as he exits off the stage, and instead stands up on shaky legs and takes his place on the chair.

Omid Abbas sits in front of her, a wide smile splitting his face. His suit, seen from close by, is composed of an eclectic range of colors, from deep blue to bright orange to swirling green patterns. He’s been interviewing Tributes for only several years now, but his funny, easy-going persona is known and loved throughout both the Capitol and the Districts. Clementine gives him a shaky smile as she sits down. His first question, thankfully, is not to gauge her reaction about Gill’s words, though she suspects that’ll come later. Instead, he asks her about her hat.

“We’ve seen it on you since you went up on that stage, in training, even in Opening Ceremonies. If I may ask-“ and Clementine and Omid share an ironic smile, like both of them know she doesn’t have a choice- “who gave it to you? What does it mean?”

“My dad, Ed, gave it to me.” Clementine says steadily, silently thanking whatever God is out there that her voice doesn’t shake like she thought it would. “It’s been in the family for years, probably before the Dark Days. He gave it to me before I left, as a reminder of home… and to not forget who I am,” she adds cautiously. Judging by Omid’s pleased smile, she hasn’t screwed up yet.

He asks her a few more questions- including the “what do you like most forward to in the arena”, to which her response- “staying alive,”- emits a loud, startled laugh from the audience-, before he finally asks her about Gill and the fall.

“So… a few minutes ago, we’ve seen something that’s never happened before. Your District partner, Gill, thanked you in what might be one of the most heartfelt thank-you’s I’ve ever seen on this show before. You guys agree, right?” He turns to the audience, and they holler and cheer in response. Clementine bites back a smile- engaging the audience is what makes an interview memorable or not, because what’s the Capitol audience if nobody pays attention to them? “Can I ask you what your mindset was when you went back for Gill?”

Clementine is quiet for a few precious seconds, thinking carefully about what she’ll say, because she knows that this question is more important than any of the other questions he’ll ask her. This question will fix a permanent view of Clementine within the audience, and she can’t afford to waste it.

“When I went back for Gill,” she starts out, trying not to rush her words even though she knows she’ll be going over her time, “I was petrified. I knew- I still know- that I had a very good chance of dying, and worst of all was the fact that I might never see my parents again. I walked up to the stage and I didn’t even look at them, because I knew if I looked at them, I would start crying, and I promised myself I would be strong, even if it was the toughest thing I had to do. But then I heard his mom, and she was crying. She was crying because she knew she might never see him again, like I might never see my parents again, or my friends, or- or the people I love most. I looked back at Gill, and when he heard his mom cry, he cried, because he’s human, maybe even more human than I am, because all I was focusing on was not crying, not showing how scared I was. He- he reminded me of the person I had to be, if I wanted to keep being myself. But most of all, he needed my help. And that alone was what made me go back for him. Because if I didn’t help him, then it was like I already was losing some part of myself. And I couldn’t- and I _won’t_ \- let that happen.”

The audience goes quiet at this. Clementine feels herself shaking, feels the sweat on her palms, the harsh beat of her heart beneath her chest, and waits for their response like she’s awaiting a death sentence.

It’s loud. It’s loud and cheering and ecstatic, ecstatic because she’s said something that might’ve pulled at their artificial heartstrings, at the people they might be underneath all the dye, and she knows she’s said something they can’t forget when Omid gets out of his chair and hugs her, so tightly she can feel his frame beneath his suit, bony and short and warm.

She walks off the stage and hears the cheers following her even after the next Tribute comes on, and it’s only until Lee’s somehow appeared beside her- Gill and Carley in tow- and hugged her even tighter than Omid that she allows herself to smile.

Gill flings himself at her as soon as Lee lets go and hugs her so tightly she can’t breathe, pressing his face into the crook of her neck and sobbing. They both know that what they’ve done for each other has given them a greater advantage than any other Tribute, not even Fur-Coat, and Clementine feels a strong wave of affection crash over her as she puts her arms around his torso. The relief of knowing she’ll have sponsors- that they’ll both have sponsors- is so heady that she can barely walk, barely focus on putting her foot in front of the other. Lee puts her arm around her and leads her to the dining room, where they celebrate the immense approval of the crowd with a grand feast. Creamy soup and intricate pastas dusted with parmesan and sauce, bowls topped high with steaming rolls and platters of fresh salad, and Clementine digs in with surprising gusto. Relief at the possibility of not dying immediately in the Game does that to people, she expects.

After dinner, they watch replays of the interviews. Clementine watches herself speak, both young and old all at once. Her dress- an intricate blue thing more expensive than her entire house- spreads out around her, topped with a cheerful yellow peacoat that gives her an unmistakably youthful appearance, and Clementine feels her brow furrow in annoyance. Weren’t they supposed to avoid that? But there’s nothing youthful in the way she answers that last question, voice so low that despite the silence of the audience, Clementine strains to hear herself. She watches herself walk off stage to shouts and cheers that finish well after the next Tribute has sat down, and smiles. Her performance was made stronger by Gill’s words, and vice versa. There’s no way their interviews aren’t at least one of the most memorable amongst the audience. She feels herself reaching out for Gill’s hand, and they exchange a grin.

Their District settled, they watch the rest of the Districts’ interview- and though Clementine is pleased to see that none can outshine the ones that came before, some stick in her mind. District 10’s male Tribute, Pete, is older than the others, and she can see it in the way he answers questions, clearly comfortable with himself but also abrupt, like a man much older than he is. District 11’s male Tribute- Nick- and he are cousins, apparently, which is very odd, if not possibly dangerous to admit- the Capitol prefers not to let Districts interact with one another, but Pete excuses it with a wave of his hand, casually telling Omid about his uncle, a Peacekeeper who’d been shipped over to District 11 a few decades before. He and Nick are as different as can be, though- where Pete is all dry humor and anecdotes, Nick’s sentences are short, choppy, and abrupt.

The couple she saw arguing earlier are from District 12. Rebecca, the female Tribute, met her boyfriend, Alvin, working in the mines a few years back, and though Clementine can already see the audience warming up to them- Alvin and Rebecca are as different as can be, which can turn out to be a compelling tragedy in the Games-, they blow the roof off the house when Rebecca coolly admits she’s pregnant.

“How did they let her compete?!” Clementine gasps out as soon as the shock lets her speak. As if on cue, Rebecca tells Omid she’s only a few months pregnant, so the Gamemakers decided to let her continue on in the Games. But the question that gets the biggest cheer is when Omid asks her if she’s concerned that her “situation” will cause problems in the Games.

“The only problem I’m focused on,” she says dangerously, eyes flashing, “is keeping my baby safe.”

It’s a barely veiled threat at the other Tributes, and the audience laps it up. She gets a cheer just as loud- if not louder- than Clementine’s, who feels ill as she watches her walk off stage. She can’t bring herself to keep a pregnant woman. Hopefully, she won’t have to, but Clementine has a feeling that the Gamemakers are going to find a way to thrust them all together no matter what she wants.


	8. Chapter 8

Sleep is out of the question that night.

And no, it’s not just pre-Games jitters finally catching up to her- though there is a pit of dread building up in her stomach when she thinks of what tomorrow will bring. It’s the fact that, even if she does survive tomorrow, she’ll have to survive the next day, and the next, and the next. How many kids will she be forced to kill to do that? To keep herself alive? To keep Gill alive? And really, who are the lucky ones- the ones who survive the Games, or the ones who die as soon as they start?

No, sleep is definitely out of the question tonight.

Clementine finds herself wandering their quarters in lieu of lying awake in her large bed, as sleeplessly as the walking dead. She finds Lee outside, leaning against the balcony, staring at the huge, colorful blobs of celebrating Capitol citizens dancing in the streets below, like flashing neon lights. He looks up as she walks over to where he’s standing, and pulls an arm around her shoulders to protect her from the crisp evening air.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks her, after a few moments.

“Could you? The night before your Games?” Clementine asks shakily. She leans into the warmth radiating from his body as she watches the colorful crowd below. A blue blob waits behind in the crowd, calling out to a slightly smaller red blob that rushes to take their hand. The sight makes something twist painfully in her chest as they pass.

“’My Games’,” Lee repeats, and Clementine can tell without looking that he’s smiling wryly. “No, Clem, I couldn’t. I spent the night staring out the window, wondering if I was passing on my last night of sleep forever, not caring if I was. I bet you’re doing the same thing, huh?”

“I promised Gill’s mother I would protect him.”

“Oh.”

“What if I can’t, Lee? What if we’re separated? What if he dies right in front of me and I can’t do anything about it? Or worse, what if we’re the last two Tributes left and we have to kill each other?” The words rush out of Clementine’s mouth before she even realizes what she’s saying. She forgets how to breathe for a moment and closes her eyes, turning away from Lee as she wills herself not to faint.

She feels Lee’s eyes bore into the back of her head concernedly. He places his hand on her shoulder familiarly, and when she turns around, the look on his face is one of so much parental concern and warmth that it sends a fresh wave of tears brimming into her eyes. He reminds her so much of her parents that it physically hurts, the homesickness a tangible force that churns in the pit of her stomach.

“It won’t,” he promises.

“How do you know?” she asks, shaking, looking up at him through her blurred vision. For the first time, she realizes his eyes are brimming with tears.

“Because I believe in you,” he tells her. A choked sound makes its way out of her throat, and she doesn’t even hesitate before wrapping her arms around his side, pressing her nose against his ribs. He pulls his own arms around her and hugs her tightly as her tears stain his white pajamas. 

 “Clem, could you find me some scissors?” He asks, pulling away after what could’ve been ten seconds or ten minutes. “There’s something I want to do before tomorrow.”

* * *

 

Sarita is the first one to notice in the morning.

“Clementine!” She gasps, her face frozen in horror as she gapes at her hair. Or what’s left of it, anyway. They sat in the dining room later that evening- right where Sarita is sitting, as a matter of fact- and cut Clementine’s hair after she found a pair of rusty scissors in one of the many bathrooms in their quarters. Lee pulled back what hair was leftover with two purple hair ties one of the trainers, Lily, had left for him. Clementine was convinced she was going to look like a boy, but the end result was fairly decent, especially considering Lee had never cut anyone's hair before.

Sarita, however, doesn't seem too pleased.

"Lee!" She glowers at him as he lifts a forkful of scrambled eggs to his mouth. He freezes, exchanging a half-amused, half-terrified glance with Clementine, and sets his fork down. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Sarita, think about it," Lee pleads. "Her hair was like Velcro to any wandering hands that would come across it. This way, it's both efficient and safe. It'll stay out of her way and keep her safe."

"I think it's nice," Gill pipes up from where he's sitting beside Carley, who's watching the entire scene unfold in front of her like an particularly interesting tennis match. Clementine gives him a grateful smile. "And Lee's right; it'll keep her safer if it's short."

"Looks cute, kid," Carley adds, winking. Sarita groans and puts her face in her hands.

"If any sponsor asks why their Tribute looks like her hair been attacked by rusty pliers, I'm blaming it on you," Sarita warns Lee, before catching Clementine's alarmed look and hurriedly assuring her it most certainly did _not_ look like her hair has been attacked by rusty pliers. Grinning at Sarita to show she knows she didn't mean anything by it, Clementine takes a seat beside Gill and feels relatively cheered despite herself and what looms ahead of them in only a few more minutes.

Lee leads her up to the roof, where a hovercraft waits for them in the air. Clementine suspects Carley's going with Gill, and she can't help but turn around to try to find them on another rooftop, but there's nothing. She reluctantly heads up the ladder that's thrown down for them, and is temporarily held immobile by some kind of glue while the ladder lifts them up into the hovercraft. A woman in a white lab coat comes by holding a syringe before Clementine can get off the ladder, and she tries not to blanch. She's never been good with needles.

"Stay still, sweetie," the woman tells her. "This is so the Gamemakers can track you in the arena."

"Wouldn't want them to lose me," Clementine offers weakly, and the woman smiles warmly at her.

The ride takes about a half hour before the hovercraft lands. Clementine and Lee head down the ladder and into the catacombs underneath the arena, where Clementine will be waiting in a chamber for her to wait in before the Games begin- the Launch Room, Lee tells her. It's brand new, meant only for her- the arenas are historic sites, and Clementine supposes if she had to choose a room to wait in for her almost certain death, it would be a beautiful one like this.

She showers, brushes her teeth, and dresses in the package of clothing Lee had left out for her. She pulls on simple black pants, a dark purple shirt with striped sleeves, and a thick blue ski jacket that'll insulate warmth easily. Lee helps her put on the boots, heavy black ones with flexible soles. As she watches him tie them for her, double-knotting them to be on the safe side, she can't help but wonder if she'll ever see him after today. Maybe that's another reason to stay alive- to see Lee again, watch him fuss over her shoes like it's the end of the world. Maybe it is. Maybe double-knotting is the secret to staying alive in the arena, but she has a nagging feeling that he wants to watch over her a while longer, before she has to leave for good. 

Lee stands back up and looks Clementine up and down.

"Almost ready," he declares, and leans over to place her hat snugly onto her head. He touches the brim affectionately before standing back and sizing her up. "There. Perfect."

"Any last words of advice?" She asks, and is proud to hear that her voice is only a little shakey.

"Keep that hair short," he tells her seriously as he zips her jacket up. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, "and stay alive."

There's nothing else to say after that, so they sit in silence, Lee's arm pulled around Clementine's shoulders as they wait. In less than an hour, Clementine could be dead. The reminder does nothing to soothe her fraying nerves, but she can't stop thinking, can't shut her brain up for one last time before what might be her final moments. But no- no, she can't think like this, can't give up before she's even tried. She made a promise to Gill's mother that she would protect him, and besides, if she was going to go down, she was going to go down fighting. If there was nothing else that could be said for her, at least there would be that.

A pleasant female voice announces it's time for the launch, breaking the silence. Lee leads Clementine over to the circular metal plate she'll be standing on in the arena. Lee leans down and kisses her on the forehead. She feels the pressure of his kiss even after he leans away.

"Be brave," he tells her. She nods, the lump in her throat too strong for her to speak.

The cylinder begins to rise, but Clementine resists the urge to look back down at Lee, because she knows that, if she does, she'll end up crying before the Games even start. Instead she stands up straight, lifts her chin, and rearranges her face in the most neutral expression she can possibly muster with her heart leaping in her throat. The cylinder rises for fifteen seconds before she's suddenly greeted with a breath of fresh air, and the familiar smell of pine trees.

"Ladies and gentleman," booms a disembodied voice, "may the seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

They're forced to stand on their metal plates for a minute, and Clementine takes this precious time to carefully look around her.

Her eyes shoot to Gill first- he's a few Tributes away, but Clementine can easily follow him whether he goes towards the inky black woods or the freshwater lake to their right. Clementine silently thanks whatever God is out there for this arena- it's a forest, a terrain she's lived in her entire life in District 6. She knows what trees have the best bark for chewing, which branches can hold her better than others- in fact, she highly doubts that there's anyone, even Fur-Coat, that can navigate the arena as well as she or Gill can.

The Cornucopia is a few yards away from the metal plates, bearing life-sustaining supplies Clementine isn't sure she'll be able to pass on the allure of, not even with twenty-three bloodthirsty Tributes at her heels. There are tents, bedrolls, weapons- a small handgun, lying only several feet away from her plate. She makes up her mind instantly- if nothing else, at least she'll have this for protection. But wait- the boy beside her, Luke, is also eyeing up the handgun. She wonders if she'll have to fight him for it- but before she can think about it further, the gong rings out.

Her feet move faster than her mind, and before she can even think the handgun is already in her hands. Luke's run off with a few of his friends that she recognizes from training, but she disregards that as irrelevant- her only concern now is finding Gill. She opens her mouth to shout his name before she hears the moaning emitting from the thicket of pine trees behind her. All the Tributes hear it, in fact, and as if in unison, they stop what they're doing- running, stabbing, or fighting- and look over.

Clementine smells them before she sees them. The smell is so potent, so strong, she can't help but reach up to her nose to protect her olfactory senses. Dark, limping figures emerge from the woods, and it's only until one of them is nearly upon her that she realizes what they are.

Somehow, someway, the Gamemakers have brought back the dead.

She somehow manages to crawl out of her dazed state to shoot the one that's closest to her. The rest of the Tributes are either scattering or fighting off the walking corpses, two of which are viciously tearing into a Tribute nearby. Clementine tastes bile in her mouth, but before she can pule she hears a scream coming from behind her.

Gill stands there, backed into a tree as two of the walking dead- walkers?- edge their way towards him. Adrenaline kicks in and Clementine races to his side, jump-kicking one of the walkers in the back of the head as it grabs the collar of Gill's jacket. She shoots the other one in the throat, but it doesn't deter from its course towards Gill until she shoots another one into its cranium.

"What-" Gill gasps out, "-are those?!"

"They're- they're dead," Clementine breathes in horror. "They're the walking dead. Walkers."

"Oh my god," Gill says, repeating the words like a broken record player. "Oh my god. _Oh my god!"_

"Come on!" Clementine manages to gasp as she pulls Gill to his feet. "We have to find shelter. We have to get away from those- those things. Did you get anything?"

"I didn't have the chance!" Gill says as they run in the opposite direction of the woods the walkers had emerged from. The adrenaline is still racing in Clementine's veins, and she runs faster than she's ever run before as they sprint past one of the male Tributes fighting off four walkers. They rip into him, spilling guts and blood all over the pine-needled floor, and Clementine is forced to grab Gill's arm to make him move as he's frozen in place.

"Don't look!" Clementine yells. "We have to keep moving!"

Her mind still can't comprehend what she's seeing, but maybe that's a good thing. Maybe the shock will prevent her from doing anything stupid that can potentially kill them. At least she's thinking clearly enough to direct them to what she thinks is a safe area to strap in for the night, which is more than she could say for that one poor Tribute she staring dazedly ahead of them as a corpse dug into her skin.

They eventually break through the trees after a very long time, and find a large oak with thick, long branches, seemingly away from all the chaos that's surrounding the Cornucopia. She realizes with a sinking feeling that the gun she grabbed is all they have to protect them from both the Tributes and the walkers, but one look at Gill makes her think closely telling him about their predicament. Instead, she forces them to climb up the branches to (relative) safety, and it's only until they're at the top do they stare at each other in shock at what they've just seen.

"Clem," Gill starts, his voice dangerously high, "how- how is that possible? How could they have brought back the dead?"

"Maybe they're not real," Clementine offers shakily, not believing it herself. "Maybe they just- reconstructed them in a lab, or something."

Gill says nothing in return. Clementine looks back at him in concern to realize that he's either fallen asleep or fainted with the exhaustion of running for around five miles without stopping, and the shock of seeing corpses come back from the dead to eat the living. She leans against the back of the tree, closing her eyes tight, and willing herself to fall asleep before they have to run again. She's never seen anything like this in a Quarter Quell before. Out of nowhere, Kenny's words come back to her- “They change rules for Quarter Quells. I guess those Gamemaking bastards want to add a little extra something to the Games"- and feels a hysterical laugh bubble in her throat before sleep finally takes her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, while I'm aware that they don't canonically have breakfast outside of the Launch Room during the Games, I couldn't help but include Sarita's reaction to Clementine's new hairdo before the Games. She'd probably stab Lee with a fork if he messed with Clem's hair without her permission, lbr.


	9. Chapter 9

"Are you _sure_ they came by here, Doc?"

"As certain as I can be with all that commotion. I don't know which was scarier, that District 1 tribute waving his gun directly into my face or the walking corpses."

"Carver's definitely scarier than whatever half-baked voodoo the Capitol made, believe me."

It would be so easy to fire a bullet into their heads.

All Clementine would have to do is take out her gun, aim, and pull the trigger. The only problem would be getting through them all in time before they climbed up the tree and hung Gill and herself with a rope, but Clementine's fairly confident in her gun-slinging abilities. A week of training with the Capitol's best does wonders for both your fighting skills and self-esteem issues, she's found out, but she still hasn't decided whether it hit the mark in decision making abilities.

She looks over at Gill, who's still sleeping, and closes her eyes, thinking hard. From the sound of their footsteps below them, they're getting closer. If they find her and Gill, they're not going to invite them to share their rations. They're going to shove whatever weapons they managed to scrounge up down their middle until the Capitol will have to ship their bodies back to their parents in parts, and bile rises in her throat when she imagines the look on Gill's mother's face when she realizes that her little boy was killed by a group of Tributes that Clementine didn't kill, even though she could've. So why is she still hesitating?

Her eyes shoot back to Gill's face. He looks different, in sleep. Peaceful. Almost happy. _It's better to let him sleep,_ she thinks, the guilt so tangible she can almost taste it as it rises in her throat. If they're going to die- which, in all likeliness, they probably are; they're not even fifteen feet off the ground yet, and the tree's leaves have fallen since yesterday-, Clementine would rather he be unconscious for whatever sick, twisted plan Luke and his group has for them when they find them. Because for some reason, they're looking for her. And she doesn't exactly figure they're going to be very quick with whatever it is they have in mind.

"We've passed that tree five times, Doc. She's not here."

"I'm telling you, Luke, I _saw_ her running through here. Her and that boy- Gill. They must've come through these parts, and they're probably still here, if they have any sense. The Careers have already taken up residency near the lake. We better hope he hasn't found her yet."

There's a camera sitting in the hollow of the tree behind her. This is her chance to either impress the sponsors, or die horrifically- either through the group down below her, or whatever trap Carver has waiting for the rest of the Tributes down at the lake. That last piece of information is concerning- Clementine's only spoil from the Cornucopia was her gun, and even that has a limited amount of bullets left. They need water and food, and she doubts she has enough ammo to last them through the week.

No, her only shot at keeping Gill and herself alive are the sponsors.

She gathers up whatever waning courage she has left and calls out through the branches, as loudly as she dares. "Looking for someone?"

Clementine's voice is cocky, showy, full of a bravado she doesn't feel. The tone of voice she's seen in Capitol soap operas everywhere, the type the audiences just lap up. She tenses in the treetops and waits for a response, trying to make out their reaction. Is Luke reaching for his gun?

After a long pause, Luke calls out to her. "Clementine? Is that you?"

Gill's beginning to wake up beside her, groaning slightly. Hot tendrils of panic whip against her throat as she calls out past the lump that's beginning to form there.

"That depends. Are you going to kill me if I say yes?"

"Kill you- Clementine, we want to form an alliance!" He says exasperatedly, cutting straight to the point. Clementine blinks. Oh.

Gill wakes up completely and stares at Clementine with huge eyes. He's frozen in place, like a deer caught in headlines, and Clementine brings her finger to her lips, brain leaping into action. In one fluid motion she hands Gill her gun and gives him directions underneath her breath.

"I'm going down there. If you hear anything- and I mean _anything,_ Gill-, you run as far away from here as you can and don't stop. Don't waste your bullets and don't go to the lake- just run. Promise me."

"I'm not going to leave you," Gill whispers back, voice tight. He shoves the gun back to her. "I'm coming down there with you."

"No, you're not!" Clementine whisper-shouts, pushing the gun away. "It doesn't make any sense for both of us to die down there!"

"You still there, kid?" Luke calls out.

"Clementine, don't." Gill says, and _oh, no_ , he's pleading. His eyes are wide with fear, and she can feel him shaking. "Please don't go down there. Don't- don't leave me alone."

"I have to, Gill," Clementine says, feeling guilty anyway. "Please- promise me you'll stay here. _Promise me,_ Gill!"

Eyes downcast, he nods. Not believing him, Clementine shimmies down the tree trunk anyway and lands ungracefully at Luke's feet. He's surrounded by people- the District 5 Tributes, Sarah and her brother Carlos, the District 12 couple, the District 11 boy, Nick, and his older cousin. Clementine gulps hard. They could take her on, easily, and she's just given Gill the only weapon she had at her disposal. But even if she did had her gun, it wouldn't help her. District 12's male Tribute is packing muscle, and Luke is a good two feet taller than her.

"Where's the boy?" The pregnant girl- Rebecca, Clementine recalls- asks, folding her arms across her chest. Clementine wills herself not to look up as she folds her own arms and meets Rebecca's gaze with a challenging stare.

"You want to make an alliance," Clementine says flatly, turning to Luke as she ignores Rebecca's question, "but you already have six people. If you're going to kill me, kill me."

"Clem, we're not going to _kill_ you, Christ," Luke shakes his head in disbelief, as if he can't believe she'd even consider the possibility that he would want to kill her in an arena full of people who are actively trying to kill each other. "There's safety in numbers. And you're smart, handy with a gun- that's more than I can say for ol' Nick here."

He slaps his ally on the back. Nick shoves him off and glares with a ferocity that makes Clementine wonder if it's too late to scurry back up the tree. Before she can open her mouth to speak, the sound of a gun firing makes them all jump five feet into the air. Gill jumps down from the low-hanging branch he was perched on and comes to Clementine's side, holding the pistol with shaky hands as he points it at Luke's head.

"Take-take one more step," he stammers, "and the next bullet goes through your brain!"

"Gill, _no,"_ Clementine says, aghast. She grabs the gun out of his hands easily, but it's too late- the others are already grabbing onto their weapons. If they survive this, Clementine decides, she's going to murder Gill. How could he have been so _reckless?_ After she told him to stay in (relative) safety?

Belatedly, she realizes this is what her parents must've felt that day in the woods.

"Wait!" She says, stepping in between Gill and Luke's group, who have their entire arsenal pointed at her and Gill’s heads. "He was just scared! He thought you guys were going to hurt me!"

"Are _you_!?" Rebecca demands.

“Bec, _shh!”_ Her boyfriend- Alvin- hushes them, looking around the clearing nervously. “The lake might be far off, but it isn’t just Carver that’s lurking in these woods, you guys.”

Carlos’s hands tighten on his sister’s shoulders. His gaze is steady and controlled when it meets Clementine’s. “It’s up to you, Clem. Are you coming with us or not?”

Clementine exchanges a silent look with Gill. He seems nervous in their presence, but she doubts he’s going to argue with her if she decides to ally up with them. They’re stronger, smarter (at least, as far as Clementine can tell), older, and armed to the teeth with weapons. And she and Gill only have four bullets between them- three now, counting the bullet Gill wasted trying to scare them off. It’s not a particularly hard decision to make, but the _what-ifs_ are particularly hard to ignore.

Still, if it’s between scavenging for supplies with Gill and almost certainly getting them both killed, or staying in relatively safe shelter with Luke’s large group of allies (though with the added threat that he might slit their throats in their sleep), she’d rather take Luke any day. And if she was being completely honest with herself, if both she and Gill die, she doesn’t want their deaths to be completely on her hands.

“Okay,” Clementine says, ripping her eyes away from Gill’s. “We’ll go with you. Just… don’t kill us in our sleep, okay?”

“We’ll save that for the daytime, sweetie,” Rebecca nearly snarls. Alvin puts his arm around her shoulder as they start walking down the pine-strewn path, and Clementine gulps hard before taking Gill’s hand and following them further into the woods.

 

* * *

 

They end up making camp after hiking a few miles west. Carlos figures that the most strategic move for the Gamemakers would’ve been to put the lake dead center in the arena, which would eventually ensure that all the Tributes would end up there, one way or another. The walkers are nearly everywhere- it’s hard to avoid them, and it’s even harder to tell what happens when they get close enough to attack. Sarah says she saw the District 3 girl get chomped by one of the walkers but end up perfectly okay afterwards, if a bit shaken. Still, Clementine doesn’t want to find out personally.

She ends up sitting on a fallen branch with Gill after a while, watching Luke and Nick divvy up the supplies while Carlos and Alvin patrol the area for any sign of Carver’s crew and the walkers shambling around the arena. Carlos’s sister, Sarah, sits beside Clementine and Gill on the branch, looking at the former with eager eyes as the latter starts to doze off against Clementine’s shoulder.

“I’ve never hung out with girls my age,” she says, earnest enough to take Clementine aback. “In my District, we work in the factories, like, night and day. All the girls working there are so much older than me, so it’s nice to be able to talk to you, Clementine.”

Clementine blinks. She’s never heard about the other Districts before- in fact, she has a sneaking suspicion that the Gamemakers are probably blotting out this conversation as they speak; they never liked Districts to be aware of what went on in other Districts. And she’s never really worried about other girls her age, either- she’d been too busy trying to fend off starvation to really think about it, one way or another. But she nods anyway, because she likes Sarah, and also because Carlos is giving her a dirty glance over his shoulder.

“Do you like to read?” Clementine asks after the three of them watch Luke and Nick argue over supplies for a while. It’s a seemingly random question, but if Clementine was being truthful, she had no idea what to say. It was literally only a few minutes ago that Sarah’s crew was pointing guns at their heads; she had no idea what to say now that she didn’t have to talk herself and Gill out of immediate danger. Sarah brightens at the question, however.

“Yeah! There’s not a lot in my District, except for boring old power manuals, but I found this one book a few weeks ago about trans-dimensional shapeshifters from space…”

As she talks, Clementine feels her neck prick. She looks up to see Rebecca staring straight at her from across the makeshift camp, eyes darting between her and Sarah. She meets her gaze head-on, feeling more annoyed with the attention than frightened, like before, and Rebecca raises her eyebrows. She gets up from the boulder she had been leaning against and waddles over to them, giving Sarah a smile softer than Clementine would’ve thought she was capable of.

“Hey, honey. How are you feeling?” She asks, resting her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. Sarah beams up at her.

“Good! I was just telling Clem about this book I found back home…” She starts to explain once more, but Rebecca squeezes her shoulder and points back at Carlos.

“That’s great, Sarah. I think your brother needs you for a little while though, can you go check up on him and see if he needs anything done?” She asks, and Clementine’s got to hand it to her- she’s all smiles and sweetness, the very picture of the mother she’s going to become in just a few months. Sarah blinks confusedly but nods, and Rebecca takes her place on the log branch as she stands up and leaves.

Clementine looks at her expectantly, expecting another lecture or another “I-don’t-trust-you” talk. Instead, she gives Clementine a tentative smile and scoots a little closer to her.

“Look, Clementine, I know I came off scary as hell before,” she begins, and Clementine stares at her with wide eyes. This is _not_ what she’d been expecting at all. “And I know I was being terrible, I do. And I’m sorry. It’s just that- I’m scared, you know? For Alvin. For my baby. I know we can’t all make it out, but if there’s a chance that they can be the ones who get out of here alive, I want to take it. I messed up before all this, too, if you can believe it. When I got pregnant, my mom was _furious._ She told me I was way too young to have a kid. And maybe I am, but I wanted to have a family with Alvin. I still do. And I know that’s no excuse for what I did to you before, but-“

“Rebecca,” Clementine says, cutting her off gently. “Don’t worry about it, seriously. You were just trying to protect your baby. I get that. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

Rebecca’s smile widens into something more genuine. “Thanks, Clem. And hey- for what it’s worth, I know you’re trying to do the same for Gill.”

They both look over at Gill, who’s drooling all over Clementine’s shoulder, cheek resting against the crook of her neck. His breath tickles Clementine’s skin, light and airy, and as she watches his breathe she feels something tighten in her chest. When she looks back at Rebecca, her face is creased in concern.

“You okay, Clem?” She asks. Clementine doesn’t trust herself to talk- if she does, she feels like she’s going to burst into tears-, so she nods instead. Rebecca doesn’t look too convinced, but wisely decides not to press the subject. Instead, she fishes out something from her coat pocket- a crumpled-up list of names. The title proclaims _baby names_ in a neat scrawl.

“Baby names,” Rebecca reads to Clementine, smiling broadly. “They allowed me to take it with me into the arena. I’ve been having a hard time deciding, maybe you can help me choose?”

Clementine grabs at the peace offering, and before long they’re discussing the pros and cons of naming a baby boy ‘Archimades’- Alvin’s great-grandfather’s name, apparently- when they hear a cannon booming. They all quiet down and turn their heads to the sky, which had turned into an inky black. There are two more cannons following the first- District 3’s female tribute and both of District 4’s tributes have died, their faces imprinted across the night sky. Clementine thinks about Kenny guiltily as she stares up into the latter’s faces, wondering if he’s watching right now.

“We’ll take first watch,” Nick says stonily, jutting his head at Luke. His usual smile has fallen from his face, and he follows Nick into the outside perimeters of the camp without saying goodnight to anyone. They all pile in the center of the camp, most of them huddling for body warmth except for Rebecca, who lays down in the only sleeping bag with a protective hand curled over her stomach.

Clementine listens to the sounds of walkers in the distance as Gill presses against her, shivering violently, until the black sky melts into gray and the first few notes of a bird rise in the early morning air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge wait time! School has been kicking my ass. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, I've got a few more surprises in store for the gang that may or may not involve a megalomaniac beginning with a C...


End file.
